Snow will soon blanket the high meadows of the Olympic Mountains. When it does, the marmots that reside there will be hibernating in their dirt burrows. With brief exceptions, the animals’ core temperature will hover around 40 degrees and their hearts will beat just three times a minute till spring.

Some of the burrows of the Olympic marmot, a species endemic to the Olympic Peninsula, will be buried under feet of snow. The animals, which could easily be mistaken for giant squirrels, will shiver every couple of weeks, briefly driving up their heart rates and body temperatures before the marmots slip back into torpor. No one knows why.

The marmots will lose about half of their body weight during hibernation, but they won’t be gaunt or listless when they snap out of it and emerge from their burrows and the snow above them. So says Richard Klawitter, an Olympic marmot enthusiast who has been studying the mammals for 25 years.

During an interview in early October, Klawitter recalled the time he was overcome with the sense of being watched as he ate lunch near a marmot colony. He turned and found himself face to face with the colony’s breeding male, which appeared perky and unblinking despite surfacing in bright light after spending months in darkness.

Adults emerge in late April to early May, typically males first. Pups are born underground in mid-June and emerge mid-July. They won’t be reproductively mature until age 3 or 4.

The size of the litter averages 3.5 pups, said Patti Happe, the recently retired wildlife branch manager of Olympic National Park. Klawitter said he’s often seen six-pup litters. Marmot pups are usually born into groups of up to 30 individuals in meadows ranging from fewer than 10 acres to more than a hundred.

The months between hibernation are spent play-fighting and running around, as well as fattening up on greens in preparation for hibernation. Because marmots don’t have sweat glands and because they have thick fur on their backs but thin fur on their bellies, they often pass time sprawled on snow or flat rocks to cool themselves. 

They also spend much of their time scanning the sky and surroundings for predators, said Miranda Terwilliger, the present wildlife branch lead for Olympic National Park. The Olympic marmots face aerial threats in the form of golden eagles and land threats from bobcats, cougars and coyotes, she said.

Historically, wolves might have taken a bite out of the marmots’ population, but hunters killed the last wolf on the Olympic Peninsula a century ago. Whether wolves preyed on marmots is unknown (wolves principally prefer larger prey), but their disappearance certainly allowed coyotes to flourish and, according to Happe and Terwilliger, the canines have become the marmots’ top predator.

At the sight of a threat marmots whistle loudly, alerting members of their colony to danger. The flight response of marmots, which some people unkindly refer to as “whistle pigs,” is to run to the safety of a burrow. Sometimes they just aren’t quick enough. 

Klawitter recalled the day he saw a juvenile golden eagle attack a marmot pup. The raptor swooped down upon the little whistle pig so aggressively that its talons struck the dirt to the right and left of its prey, failed to grab it and flew off empty-handed. The pup lived to forage another day.

Klawitter recalled another time when a golden eagle appeared overhead and a group of marmots frolicking on snow far from their burrows failed to notice it. Had it not been for his presence, Klawitter said, he’s certain a marmot would have met its maker that day. 

Spotting predators in the nick of time has become increasingly difficult for the “rock chucks,” which is another disrespectful nickname for our beloved whistle pigs. Why? With temperatures rising, the snowpack is shrinking. Seeds from forest trees that would otherwise have landed on snow and died are now landing and sprouting in the meadows that rock chucks call home, and the forest is closing in.

With the encroaching forest, predators can get in better striking distance of marmots before being noticed. Marmot burrows typically have wide dirt porches and marmots that are on their porches when a predator appears have a good chance of evading attack. But those marmots that stray from their safe holes play with fire.

Speaking of which, forest fires can be a marmot’s friend. A forest fire can create more meadow for marmots, Terwilliger said. As for flames, the animals are safe from them in their burrows.

That said, climate change will likely do in the Olympic marmot, Terwilliger said. Because marmots need snow to maintain their high-elevation meadows, warming weather will cause the meadows to dry up and recede until there aren’t any left.

“Seventy-five percent of the marmot colonies that I once watched are no more,” said Klawitter, who started observing the Olympic marmots in 1999. “They’re extinct. There are no animals there anymore.”

There is no reliable number for the species’ population. The only figure I could get was from Happe, who put the number of Olympic marmots at “between the hundreds and the low thousands.”

Those wishing to see one of the most gregarious creatures on the peninsula are advised to visit Hurricane Hill, a popular site for Olympic marmots, next summer. Unfortunately, their numbers and your odds of seeing them will not improve with time.

Scott Doggett is a former staff writer for the Outdoors section of the Los Angeles Times. He and his wife, Susan Englen, live in Port Townsend.